A fighting chance
by roadkill-writer
Summary: Rivendell falls to the power of Sauron, but the ring disappears from all existance. Told from the view of a young elf trying to make a living in this new world. This is my first non-humour fanfic, so please be nice! R&R *chapter 7 up*
1. Nim enters the world

Chapter one: Nim enters the world  
  
The day I was born, there was a bright Blue Moon. They said it was sign, they claimed I would be a great and wise child of my race.  
  
Though signs are easily forgotten.  
  
I don't know if I ever was a good leader. Mother always said I was wonderful – I know that she loved every aspect of my being, and Father, on his rare visits, seemed to love me just as much.  
  
Though this made it all harder to forget.  
  
Children, of course, were not raised solely by their parents, as a rule. The whole city brought me up, with the two other young elves of the time. So really, everyone I came in contact with was like a parent to me.  
  
So remembering was all but too painful.  
  
I don't think I ever stood out as special. That is one thing about elves – they are all so "superior", so special, that people see them as all being the same.  
  
I hated being the same.  
  
I was given the blessing of my people, and named, "Moonaminiskiale," after some long-forgotten tribe my father had belonged to, millenniums ago. But I was affectionately nick-named,  
  
"Min."  
  
Mother and father never really loved each other, after I was born. They had loved, briefly, and that was where I came in, but after that they drifted apart. It is hard for elves to love deeply. It happens very rarely.  
  
But then father was called away to a great council with the Dwarfs of the misty mountains, what few there were. He was always chosen as a sort of emissary, and, this time, they needed someone from Rivendell as well as Mirkwood, since this was the first real contact with the dwarfs for a long time.  
  
We never did care for the dwarfs much, did we? I suppose all that has changed now. But back then, it was terribly important, and Mother had to go, so I was left alone for a few months.  
  
I didn't mind. I was quite capable of independence at the age of five hundred or so: it felt good to put myself to the tested. I always tested myself, never feeling I was good enough, always having to prove myself, strain myself to the limit.  
  
When they returned, something was different between them. The feel of new ground under their feet and the taste of travel must have renewed an old urge, for Mother was decidedly heavy and round about the waist. I was to have a new brother or sister!  
  
But now that fleeting love must be gone to my parents, for they seemed even more distant then usual. Elves have no need for marriage or bonds, of course, and I could see that this was the last time my Mother and Father would ever be called "partners." Their love, which might have been strong in their youth, was gone, for good.  
  
But mother had something else to love: her new child.  
  
The night my sister was born, there was a cold storm. My sister should not have entered this land that night. She was born far too early, premature, months before she was due, the healer said, and that, she explained, was why she was so small.  
  
When she came, she was tiny, and half-blue. She didn't breath, she looked dead in fact, but for a faint heart-beat. They said she would never last more then a few days, even if she did awaken, and that it would be kinder to kill her now.  
  
But Mother wouldn't let them. She clutched her child to her chest, and breathed on her, and hugged her, and whispered forgotten spells to her.  
  
And the baby breathed. She started crying: loud and clear and crisp as morning frost. I had never heard a baby cry: I had never heard anyone cry before. It sounded harsh and cruel. And beautiful.  
  
I loved my sister from the first moment I heard that cry.  
  
The next day, she laughed. She was so tiny – small enough to fit into my palm – but her laugh was so big it made Mother, and the healers, and relatives, and even Elrond, who had come to see the new babe, even I, it made us all laugh.  
  
So she was called "Elijakoriowayei," the "Little laughing one who is a gift from the stars." That was a silly name, in an old language no one remembers how to speak. But I was Min, so my new baby sister was called Nim instead, which was much easier to remember.  
  
Nim grew just as she was supposed to. She didn't die, like they had said she would. But even over twenty years she was still no bigger then a human child of nine or ten, and after that it was obvious she would grow no bigger.  
  
Father came to see us, every few years. Nim would come rushing out to meet him when she was little, and climb up onto the horse to talk to him about everything that had happened while he had been away, which wasn't very much. Father would nod and hold her. But I could see in his eyes that he wanted her to grow, to be tall and wise like she was supposed to.  
  
As she got older and more mature she changed. She wasn't a little child any more. But sometimes she still seemed so. She was just to innocently curious and happy and brave to be anything but a child. All was all that she could be. 


	2. Nim meets a hobbit

Chapter two: Nim meets a hobbit  
  
  
  
For a while, people had been talking about the rumours. Rumours of a forgotten darkness which was creeping back into the world. A shadow in the east. A nameless threat. Around the time of Nim's sixtieth birthday, the threat was suddenly not nameless any more. The shadow was growing, and it's tendrils touched even Rivendell.  
  
The threat of Mordor. And the ring – they said the ring of power, the One Ring, had been found. So long forgotten, like it's master, it was suddenly being remembered.  
  
I heard Mother speak that the ring was coming to Rivendell. I grew afraid then. I had heard of it's terrible power. How if a good person put it on, they were turned to stone. How if wickedness touched it, everything for miles around turned to ash, because of it's power. Most of what I had heard was not true: fairy tales foolish people had made up to scare children, but my friends and I knew no better.  
  
I saw them bring him in. A little creature, wounded, dying, pursued by the dark lord's servants. I felt so sorry – he was so small and helpless, draped across the saddle of a horse as if he didn't matter (and it was Mother's horse, for that matter!). But I did not want him to be here: I wanted them to take him away, where the enemy couldn't find him, or us.  
  
Soon emissaries from all over the land were arriving in Rivendell: Elves from Mirkwood, and Lothlorien, including my father. Wanderers from the elvish tribes in the south. Dwarfs from scattered mountains, suddenly were walking along our paths. Men from Gondor, old, and some young. I heard that the little one – the halfling, or hobbit, I had learned by now – had awoken, and been joined by his fellows. Even Gandalf the Grey, whom I had only met a few times, had turned up.  
  
They held a council, which Mother told me about later, and the actions of the free peoples were decided.  
  
I was sitting reading outside the library when the council finished. The architects and potters had begun laying new tiles on the floor of the hall in front of the library, because the old ones were now considered too "dull". I had always loved the Library. I loved it's smell, and the perfect rows of books, and the covers, all glistening as if they had been specially polished like the great oak tables and velvet chairs. I spent a lot of time there, when Mother didn't need me or I wasn't taking lessons (for I was expected to be a Governess like her when I came of age).  
  
Nim was with me, for once. She loved the sparkling tiles, stacked up like chimneys in the sun, decorated with a hundred different images, each square no bigger then her palm, but thicker then her thumb.  
  
She asked the potters if she could have one of them, and they had told her, "Maybe if there's one left over, little Nim," which I thought was rather mean, since Nim didn't realise that the tiles were specially counted so that there would not be even one extra square.  
  
Then again, it would be days before the potters had finally finished the tiling, so she would perhaps have forgotten by then.  
  
I was sitting on a chair reading, and watching Nim skip about the area, getting in the way of the potters and generally making a nuisance of herself, when he appeared on the top of the stair well at the head of the hall.  
  
There was an a still silence, no longer then a heartbeat, but quite detectable all the same, as every pair of eyes glanced briefly in the hobbit's direction, before everyone went back to what they had been doing, trying to pretend the silence hadn't been there.  
  
Nim saw him at once, of course, and quite forgot about the tiles. She bounded up the stairs like an excited kitten.  
  
"Hello," she said, "I saw you go to Elrond's talk-thingie!"  
  
("So that was where she had snuck away to before!" I thought to myself, "she's been spying on the council!")  
  
"My name is Nim," Nim continued, "who are you? I have never seen anyone smaller then myself!"  
  
("Trust Nim," I thought, "she's a bit insensitive when she gets excited.")  
  
But the Hobbit didn't seem to mind about the comment.  
  
"Frodo Baggins," he said, sticking out his hand, which Nim eagerly took.  
  
I could tell everyone in the hall was listening to the conversation, though the two small figures, now sitting on the banister at the top of the stairs were quite oblivious to their audience of eaves-droppers.  
  
"I remember," said Nim, pleased to know something about this strange creature, "my sister told me about you. She saw you when you came here, to Rivendell. She was very upset."  
  
("Oh Min, Hold your tongue!" I said to myself.)  
  
"Why?"  
  
"She saw what they did to you. Those wicked things – I don't know what they are, but everybody says that they're bad," Nim looked at the ceiling, as if it could explain the Nazgul to her, "She said that she couldn't believe anything with half a brain could be so cruel. She said she wished she had some power to stop the evil, some power to make light conquer of darkness. She said she wished life was like a fairy tale, where good always won."  
  
"Hmm," Frodo commented.  
  
"Plus," Nim added, "she was really mad because mother said she had to clean the saddle which you got blood all over!"  
  
Hiding behind my book, I went very red.  
  
"I wish there was some way for good to win without fail," Frodo said, "but how can we even tell what bad is any more?"  
  
"Father says you can feel it: Like a hand on your heart," Nim said, "I think he felt it once," she suddenly seemed to brightened up, "you got stabbed, didn't you? Do you have a scar?"  
  
("Oh Nim!" I thought, "What are we to do with you and your questions?") But Frodo just laughed and opened the top of his shirt.  
  
"Ugh," said Nim staring just like I've always told her not to, "that's quite amazing. It must have hurt. And what's that?"  
  
"This?" said Frodo absent mindedly, and pulled out a ring on a thin gold chain. Again, that moment of shocked silence as everyone glanced at it, "it's a ring. A very important ring."  
  
"It's just a ring," Nim said, realising he was uncomfortable discussing it.  
  
"If only everyone thought that way," Frodo said quietly, though not quietly enough for the dozen elven ears listening.  
  
Nim quickly turned the conversation back to Frodo. She wanted to know everything she could about hobbits: well, it's not surprising she was so fascinated.  
  
The only thing she'd ever seen in her short time on earth, apart from elves, were men, which she described as "…grumpy and boring," and the odd dwarf, "Hairy and foul-smelling!" She said.  
  
She told Frodo about being born small, about life in Rivendell, about Mother and Father, and me (my face turned even redder), and he in turn, told her about his home the "Shire", and about his adventures in getting from there to Rivendell. I actually learnt quite a bit, once I had gotten over my humility. And the two of them ended up laughing like old friends.  
  
It was then that I realised how little the elves laugh.  
  
And all the time they talked, Frodo had the ring in his hand. He would swing it, or just hold it out, and everyone listening followed it with their eyes. All except for Nim, who never even glanced at it.  
  
The potters got very little work done that day.  
  
Eventually, I realised the sun was low in the sky, and hurried to collect Nim before Mother had to come and collect us herself.  
  
"This is my sister, Min!" Nim proclaimed happily when I picked her up.  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Frodo shook my hand, though I had to bend down to take it, "sorry about the blood."  
  
I went so red I swear, the sun looked dim beside me. I had to pretend to cough and turn away, as Nim waved good bye over my shoulder.  
  
I hurried Nim off to her room to get changed for dinner, and went to my own, still cursing my embarrassment in every tongue I knew.  
  
And when I got there, I found they were already occupied.  
  
"Sorry," said one of the two hobbits standing on my bed, "we're completely lost."  
  
"We're supposed to be over at the…um…'Rose Marble Dining Room'," the other explained, "but we took a wrong turn on the way back from the council."  
  
"And we've been wandering ever since," finished the other.  
  
"It's quite a maze, this place. Better then Bree, though. Sorry."  
  
"That's quite alright" I said, getting over the shock of meeting another two hobbits face-to-face, "I've just got to get changed, then I'll show you where the Rose Room is, of course. I am supposed to be dining there tonight, too. Father wanted me to meet…Hey! Put those down!"  
  
He quickly dropped a pair of my white knickers with a guilty look on his face. I grabbed the undies, which I had left on my bed along with most of my socks, and stuffed them into a random draw, muttering about how halflings seemed to have been created for the sole purpose as to humiliate me.  
  
"Stay here," I instructed, pulling me evening dress out of the cupboard and heading for the bathroom, "and don't touch anything!"  
  
And so began my experience with hobbits. 


	3. Introductions

Chapter three: Introductions  
  
It turned out, once I had calmed down enough to introduce myself and start a conversation that the two new hobbits were named Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took. Or Just Merry and Pippin, they said, since all that was a mouthful. I decided not to recite my whole name to them.  
  
They somehow wormed out of me the fact that I had just met Pippin's cousin Frodo, and it ended up with me telling them about how it was Frodo had come to know me. They both thought my story was extremely funny.  
  
"Trust Frodo to find the prettiest lass in Rivendell," Merry hollered, "and get her to clean up after him!"  
  
Once again, I could feel myself turning red, though I was quite flattered that they thought I was pretty.  
  
Dinner was a little more civilised. Several of the council had gotten together that night, and Father had been pleased to invite me along so as to introduce his eldest daughter to the lot of them. The other Hobbit, the only one I hadn't met yet, was Samwise Gangee, who seemed a bit shy and stayed sitting next to Frodo with his head down. I met Alrendo, Uninon, and Borimir, all from Gondor, Aragorn, whom I had already heard of, and some of father's fellows from Mirkwood. Not surprisingly, none of the Dwarfs had turned up.  
  
Alrendo and Uninon were foul-tempered old men who grunted mostly, and ate with their fingers. Borimir seemed nicer: though I wasn't allowed to talk to him, and anyway, he spent almost the entire time arguing with Uninon about something.  
  
Father's colleagues (he always called them "colleagues") were Jaken, Idore, and Ferdino, whom he'd grown up with, and his cousin, Campbell, whom I'd met from my one previous trip to Mirkwood. They had very little to say me, and, I must admit, were rather more rude and arrogant then the elves of Rivendell.  
  
I ended up sitting next to Merry and Pippin, since father went off and joined his "colluegues," (to keep them civilised, I think). The two hobbits kept whispering "Oh look Min, Frodo's spilled his sauce! Better get a mop!" or, "He's fainted! Min, you have to go save poor Frodo!" I kicked them under the table several times, and by the end of it, I was glad to get away, once dessert finally finished. (The hobbits went quite wild: they've never seen Creamed Ice or Pavlova before, let alone tasted them. I ended up giving most of mine to Pippin.)  
  
When I got back to our rooms, Mother was waiting for me. She'd had to have an urgent meeting with Elrond, apparently so that was why neither of them had been at dinner.  
  
"How did the council go?" I asked immediately, and then I saw her face.  
  
"They've decided," she said quietly, "the Ring must stay in Rivendell."  
  
I stopped dead.  
  
"They say it is too dangerous to leave the protection of the elves," she continued, "and they will not allow Gondor to take it."  
  
"But…I thought they were to destroy it!" I cried.  
  
"They decided that was even more dangerous," Mother said quietly, "they say that attempting to take the ring to Mount Doom would be foolish. The fools! They don't understand that here is where they will look first! The fools! The fools!" She went on to curse them in every tongue she knew, and I thought "That must be where I get my swearing."  
  
"But where will they put it?" I asked finally, to distract her, "Will Elrond take it?"  
  
"No, no one will take it," Mother said bitterly, "it will be hidden somewhere: They will not tell me where. Only Elrond and his most trusted know. I should have been one of his 'most trusted', but I cursed at them, and so they will not tell me where they have hidden it. Or will hide it. But the enemy will find it, yes, we can be sure of that." 


	4. The beginning of darkness

Chapter four: The beginning of darkness  
  
  
  
So the ring was to be hidden. I knew it was the greatest mistake that the elves ever made.  
  
I had little time to worry about it, though. Preparations were being made: preparations to guard against Mordor, spies and informants coming in from all the lands to give us new information on the enemy, and councils, more councils then I could count! And now that the fate of the Ring was decided, the hobbits were no longer needed. But someone still had to keep them entertained. That someone was me, so I spent the next two and a half months with Merry and Pippin dangling from my tail.  
  
Merry was forever commenting on everything, "look at the waterfall!," "See the birds Pip?" "The marble is so amazing!" It was as if he had to fill in time by speaking every single (obvious) thought in his head. I wondered if perhaps there was something wrong with him at first, but I got used to it after a while. And his jokes! I'd ever heard a hobbit joke before, and I don't know if I want to again. They were so crude and, usually, rude. But elves don't joke much…maybe that was how jokes were supposed to be.  
  
Pippin was forever asking questions, a little like Nim. "How do they make the terraces so perfectly?" "When was Rivendell first built?" "Where does all the food come from?" "Why is the sky always so blue around here?" I didn't have time to answer all of them, but he didn't seem to notice. And they laughed! Merry laughed whenever Pippin asked something, whenever I said or did something that seemed odd to them. Pippin just laughed at everything.  
  
I spent nearly all of those days with them. Walking about Rivendell, climbing the hills outside the city, exploring the caves in the cliffs.  
  
Partly because I loved being with them. Partly because Nim had attached herself to Frodo and followed him everywhere, like a loyal dog, so I didn't have to worry about her (He was much more serious then his fellows), and also partly because I had seemed to have been landed with the job of looking after the two mischievous hobbits. Oddly, the only other person who had taken on this responsibility was the man Borimir. Any time the two hobbits weren't with me, they were with him.  
  
And looking after hobbits wasn't that easy. Merry was always thinking of new ways to cause trouble, like some undisciplined child, and Pippin always followed him right into it. Pippin himself simply would not stop fiddling! Everything he saw, he had to touch it. It didn't matter if it was simply an ornately carved banister, or some precious machine of the gardener's, the young hobbit never thought anything was worth simply seeing, he just had to feel it as well.  
  
I longed to be like them: not caring, not knowing, thinking like a child, and allowed to do so. It was something I had always wanted but knew I could never have: mortality.  
  
Then the reality of mortality hit us all, so hard we never recovered from it.  
  
The dwarfs had left days ago, and the Men of Gondor were due to do the same any day. Even father had left, gone back to Mirkwood as if he had forgotten us. The hobbits were probably going too, but they, naturally, had left it to everyone else to sort this out.  
  
But they all had to halt any travel plans for a while yet. Orcs had been seen, patrols in great number, along the eastern boundaries. Any further travel was deemed unsafe. But they said that none of the orcs were heading for Rivendell. At least, that was what they thought.  
  
The attack came at night. I woke to the sound of the great bell tolling: a deep, mournful sound, telling the people of Rivendell to prepare for battle, for siege. We were already prepared for something like this, of course. Weapons, armour, all were laid out strategically about the city, ready for use if an attack came. We all had certain placements and orders to go to: some to head for the gates, some to the watchtowers or to guard within the walls. The youngsters, elders, and sickly folk were told to head for the cliff caves. Everything was set out long ago.  
  
But nothing we had done prepared us for what came. I never knew orcs could go so silently: before most of the city had awoken properly, they had already broken through the gates. Some tried to hold them off from there, but they had no chance. A new call went up: Flee! Flee, people, and hide!  
  
The way to the caves way blocked. I had Nim with me, silently wrapped around me, trying to point me in the right direction, but I quickly became disoriented by the crowds, the sudden fires, and simple panic. I was dressed in nothing but a thin coat over my night gown, leggings, and sandals which I had slipped on at the last minute. I had my bow, but only three arrows, hurriedly shoved into my belt, and a small dagger. Nim had only a thin dress, and was shivering.  
  
I ran through streams of elves, hurrying to who-knows-where, and once nearly walked into a group of orcs. Sometimes I would find a place where there was no one, and the silence seemed even worse then the far-away screams.  
  
My city was being destroyed around me. My friends, people I had known all my life, where being slain. I could think of nothing but escape, I knew only that I had to get my sister out of there. Nim seemed much calmer then me, but her shivering was more then just the cold.  
  
I found myself in the hall outside the library. The hall where, not so long ago, I had sat and read while Nim laughed and life went on.  
  
I looked on in horror as, inside the library, a fire raged. I could see the elves whom had tended the books lying dead on the ground, as orcs ran torches along the rows of books. The fire caught quickly on the brittle paper: in seconds everything had been engulfed in flame. Their work done, the orcs cried out in triumph and headed for the door. I could only stand rooted as the came nearer.  
  
"NIMMIN!"  
  
Then I heard the cry. My mother stood there, in full warrior dress. Her sword was held high, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders like rain. I remembered father had said she was a great warrior once, in a war long ago, when they were young. Run. Her eyes said, Run my daughters.  
  
I stumbled backwards as the orcs plunged forth. Then I saw her blood spill over the beautiful tiles which not long ago, Nim and I had admired so much. Now my mother was more precious to me, more beautiful, then any jewel or treasure. She was all I wanted.  
  
But I ran.  
  
Arrows hit the walls around me. There were tears on my face as I held Nim to me. The orcs had barely seen me. I ran, and ran, and found myself on one of the terraces behind our rooms: Our rooms, which had been trashed, the walls scratched, my bed overturned, the tables and chairs broken and smashed, even Nim's precious little porcelain horse father had given her had not been spared. Where could we go? The gates? They would be overrun by orcs. The roads would be the same. Down the river? I was afraid I might not be able to swim that far.  
  
"Min?" Nim whispered to me.  
  
"Yes baby?" I couldn't look at her. She must think me a coward.  
  
"Where's Ma?"  
  
I realised she had not seen our Mother die. God, I envied her.  
  
"She's…not here Nim."  
  
"But I heard her call."  
  
"Don't worry," I whispered, hugging her, "she's safe now. She's in no pain. We will see her later."  
  
"When will we see her?"  
  
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I didn't want it to be soon: I didn't want Nim to join our mother.  
  
Join her.  
  
I looked up at the hills. There were paths, I remembered, that no one had been on for years. They were supposed to be too steep and dangerous to climb.  
  
But what choice had we?  
  
I knew where one of the rocky trails was. When I reached it, I put Nim on my back, hooked my bow over my arm, and began to climb. 


	5. The smart thing to do

Chapter five: The smart thing to do  
  
The stones cut into my hands, and my fingers and knees were bleeding before long. Small bushes flicked in my face, and several times I almost slipped. Once, I looked down, and looked quickly away again. Fires raged everywhere, as the trees which I had climbed as a child burned to ashes. The main bridge had been destroyed, probably with some magical explosive. I could hear screaming.  
  
The top of the cliff never seemed any closer. Every step grew harder, and Nim seemed to have fallen asleep on my shoulder. I had to hold her wrists with one of my hands to stop her slipping off my back.  
  
All I wanted was to rest, to find this all a dream.  
  
To keep myself awake, I hummed songs from my childhood. I told myself stories my Mother had whispered to me as a little girl.  
  
Fairy Tales.  
  
Eventually, I almost was in a dream. I was climbing, but I wasn't thinking. I found myself drifting off, and finally, I just gave up and sat on a thin ledge, resting against the rock face. Whether I actually slept or not, I don't know.  
  
Suddenly there were strong hands lifting me to my feet, and someone lifted Nim from my back. I grabbed her, whimpering, but a voice said, "It's alright. I'll take her, you're almost at the top. It's alright."  
  
I couldn't be bothered arguing. I staggered to my feet and up after the vague form of the person – man – who was carrying my sister. In a few moments the cliff turned into a step, which turned into flat ground. The man helped me over the edge – it was still too dark to see who it was – and pulled towards the cover of trees.  
  
I could see two vague figures, who beckoned at us, and I was brought further into the forest above my beloved Rivendell that was no more. The man placed the sleeping Nim on the ground and wrapped a blanket around her. As he stood up I recognised him.  
  
Borimir!  
  
The other two were elves, Astelo, who had been one of my Mother's friends, and a male I couldn't remember the name of.  
  
No, don't think about Mother.  
  
I sat down next to Nim, exhausted beyond limits, and stroked her hair. Nearby I saw another pile of lumps, and realised it was Merry and Pippin curled up next to each other.  
  
"Here," Borimir, handed me a small canteen, "drink. Are you alright, Min? Wounded? Is Nim hurt?"  
  
I hadn't realised knew our names. I just shook my head, too tired to speak. I felt a little ashamed at that. Elves were never supposed to be tired!  
  
After I took a swig from the bottle, the cold clean water revived me a little.  
  
"Thank you," I rasped, "thank you from my heart."  
  
"Any time," he said.  
  
"We have to go back," said Astelo, glaring at the two of us as if we had done something wrong, "we should return and fight."  
  
Borimir didn't look at her. "I rescue them from the frying pan," he said, still talking to me, "and they want to jump right back into the fire!" I realised this must be some old saying.  
  
"We have to return!" The other elf commanded. I suddenly remembered his name was Lokánd, and that he was Astelo's brother, "our people need us!"  
  
"Your people are dead," Borimir said, "if there are any alive, they will have done the smart thing and fled."  
  
"Moonaminiskiale," Astelo turned to me, pleading, and I frowned. I hate people using my full name, "you will come with us, will you not?"  
  
I shook my head. "I cannot leave Nim. I will not endanger her further by getting myself killed. Go if you will, by I shall flee. I want to find any others. I shall not fight with you."  
  
"The smart thing to do," repeated Borimir.  
  
"Then we will go alone!" Lokánd said, "We would rather die with our city then abandon it!"  
  
They cast one angry glance at us and turned into the darkness. I could already smell smoke rising from the city as they trudged away.  
  
For a long time, neither Borimir nor I spoke.  
  
"Strange, I would have gone," he said.  
  
"Hmm?" I asked, then realised he was thinking aloud. He replied anyway.  
  
"I would have fought for Rivendell," he said, "and I would have anyway, but…" he gestured at Merry and Pippin, "but I couldn't leave them. I have only known them a month, and already I feel like they are brothers to me."  
  
"They're like that, aren't they?" I said. I didn't really know how to react to this man. I had about as much experience with humans as I did at destroying Rivendell by myself.  
  
"What are you going to do, Min?" Borimir asked, "once you flee?"  
  
I didn't want to answer. But it was obvious that he wasn't going to let it go, so I had to answer in the end.  
  
"I have no idea," I said, "I have no where else to go…except perhaps Mirkwood, to my father. If he will remember I exist," I don't know why I was blaming my father. I always hated it when he went away, as if we didn't matter to him, but this time…if he had been here, perhaps Mother would be here too, "I'll try to find other elves. I'll try to find my friends. I'll try and find the rest of my family. I have an uncle, with a son, who is only a couple of centuries older then me. They might have escaped," I shrugged, "I never knew them that well."  
  
"You're Mother died, didn't she? Down there?"  
  
This had come so suddenly it took me by surprise, and I answered instantly, "Yes."  
  
Then I though better of it, "But Nim…she doesn't know. Please don't tell her, I'm afraid of what it would do to her."  
  
"You should be truthful," Borimir said, "she won't be a child forever. Better to know now and get used to it, then to cling to false hope only to find you lied to her."  
  
It made sense. But it wouldn't make telling any easier.  
  
Borimir took a swig from the canteen. He had been watching Nim closely, and it was beginning to make me uncomfortable, when he suddenly spoke, "She's sleeping, isn't she?"  
  
"Yes," I said.  
  
"I thought elves couldn't sleep."  
  
"We don't. Well, we sort of rest with our eyes open. It's like sleeping."  
  
"But Nim has her eyes closed," he said, "she is sleeping like a human."  
  
"She has always been like that," I explained, "because she was born early."  
  
"You can't explain everything away because she was born early," he said.  
  
"It's just the way she is," I said, "she's different from other elves."  
  
"Very," he agreed.  
  
  
  
You like? Please review, I have…many friends…in middle earth…wait, what am I saying? My only friends in Middle Earth are Pippin, Borimir, and Sometimes Frodo and Eowyn, when I'm not bitching with Eowyn. It all started after that unfortunate incident with Sam's rabbit…ok, ok, that's another story, I'll shut up, please review and I'll write some more! 


	6. The journey begins

Chapter six: The journey begins  
  
We didn't leave immediately. Borimir and I stayed up all night, myself "sleeping," in the normal elvish way. I didn't know why Borimir suddenly seemed to wary of Nim. Didn't care.  
  
We needed to wait a few days, to see if Astelo of Lokánd came back. They didn't. We watched the smoke finally vanish, the orcs leave, some bearing trophies of war: plundered treasures, jewellery, elven heads. I was nearly sick.  
  
No one else came. Before he had left, Borimir had grabbed half a sack of potatoes and a small bag of apples, and some blankets. Water we could get from streams around the cliffs. But it was potatoes and apples for breakfast every day, when we got breakfast. Needless to say, the hobbits were not too happy about this.  
  
After a few days, when we were sure there were no orcs left, we climbed down the cliff to look for survivors. Merry and Pippin were nearly frantic with worry for their friends. But we found nothing. A mangled corpse here, a dead horse there, but nothing we wanted to see.  
  
I managed to salvage some more suitable clothes for Nim and I, and even found a couple of small shirts for the hobbits. Borimir said he didn't need anything.  
  
Nim and I were foraging through the wreckage, and we found ourselves in the hall outside the library. I felt sick again when we got there. The new tiles were smashed and shattered beyond repair. There was blood everywhere.  
  
I decided then and there, I would tell Nim. So I told her. I told her that her Mother had died here, four days ago. I told her that she wasn't coming back, that our home and our family was gone for good. I had to tell her sometime, didn't I?  
  
She took it well, I think. She cried for a few minutes, and I just hugged her and rubbed her back, like Mother used to. After a while, she said, "Mother wouldn't want me to cry, would she?" And stopped. She was very quiet after that, but she tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.  
  
Merry and Pippin came and found us. They had discovered a kitchen which had not been trashed, and some fruit trees which had escaped the fire, and their bags were loaded with peaches and pears, dried fruits and meats, some jugs of very cold tea, and toffee! Toffee, of all things! They gave some to Nim, I think they knew she had been crying.  
  
Before we left, Nim said there was one last thing she had to do. She went back to the library hall, and found a tile that wasn't broken or stained. It was one of the smaller ones, about the size of her palm, with a cat with golden eyes, lying with it's tail wrapped about a crescent moon. She put it in her coat, and then we left.  
  
"I've decided we will go to Mirkwood," I told Borimir, "my father will be there. Hopefully, he will take us in."  
  
"I should return to my kingdom also," he said, "my father will be worried. But first, I promised these little ones," he waved his hand at Merry and Pippin, who were trying to unstick some meat from a lump of toffee, "that I would take them home, to their Shire."  
  
We travelled together for several days, walking cross-country, hiding in the woods from the patrols that were looking for surviving elves.  
  
Once our ways split, we waved goodbye and left each other.  
  
I was actually quite sad. I had liked Borimir, and I would certainly miss the hobbits.  
  
As we parted, I wondered whether I could cope in this new world. But really, I had no choice, did I? 


	7. The everlasting Night

Welcome, welcome to my sad attempt at writing! Thanks for reading, I'm eternally grateful  
  
  
  
Chapter seven: The everlasting night  
  
Sauron never found the ring. I heard that orcs had returned to Rivendell, and searched it until it was dust, but they could not find the ring. The Nazgul themselves came, I heard, and the ring had not been there. When I heard this, I was shocked. That meant that someone, somewhere, was carrying the Ring. An elf from Rivendell? I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe that.  
  
But I suppose it didn't make much difference. Sauron was already to strong. Perhaps, if the ring was destroyed, and the Dark Lord perished, perhaps we might rebuild our world…but the Ring remained well, hidden somewhere, and Sauron stopped searching.  
  
All of the elves had instantly become fugitives. As the shadow spread, like it had in the great wars thousands of years ago, and one by one, the lands of Middle Earth fell once again to his power, we were forced back and back. But unlike those great wars, there was no one to fight back. Gondor was one of the first to fall, it's white city destroyed and its glory toppled like a bees nest knocked from a tree. I wondered whether Borimir had made it back and perished fighting for his city, or whether he was still out there somewhere.  
  
Nim and I travelled from town to town together, getting by any way we could. Even in the cities which had been overrun by the dark powers, we were usually safe for small periods of time. No one noticed two small figures sitting in the corner of an inn, no one made anything of a cart travelling past with two hooded creatures riding atop it. Or if they did, they didn't care.  
  
Some people must have realised we were elves. I worked as a farmhand or a waitress for money, and some one must have noticed when I lowered my hood, that I was not human. Orcs were everywhere, and once or twice we were discovered, but on the whole, people were kind, and kept our secret.  
  
We met other elves every now and then. Small groups of three or four, mostly. We would exchange knowledge with them, then go on our way. It wasn't wise to draw attention in larger groups. But we still traded news, and it was in this way that we kept up with what was happening to the world about us.  
  
Lothlorien and Mirkwood fell quickly after Rivendell. The great forests were burned, the castles destroyed or occupied by orcs. Finally, it seemed that there was no where left that was not controlled by the Dark Lord.  
  
Any who opposed him were crushed, or taken to Mordor, never to return. It was safer to stay low and sit tight, hiding in friendly towns, despite the orcs which ruled there.  
  
I sometimes disguised myself as a boy, because work was better that way, and I felt safer. Once a doctor we were staying with offered to crop our ears for us, to make us less conspicuous, but I refused. Lose my ears! No.  
  
Eventually, we reached what was left of Mirkwood. Most of the forest still stood, dark and proud, and I knew the trees were one thing no one could ever completely destroy.  
  
We travelled the paths we found for several days, as our supplies dwindled. I tried tracking the surviving elves, but I was never very good at it, and they hid their tracks well.  
  
It was by chance that we came across them. We were attacked by orcs on the fourth day, a very small patrol of a dozen or so, and suddenly arrows flew form the trees and green-clad elves leapt from the trees, easily destroying every last orc without breaking a sweat.  
  
At first they were suspicious of Nim and I. We tried to appear harmless and peaceful, but they blindfolded us anyway, and took us to their hide out.  
  
It was more then I could have hoped for. The group, a band of rebels who had fought to reclaim their place since the Kingdom of Mirkwood had fallen, was led by none other then my esteemed father, with Campbell as his second in command. He was overjoyed to see us: he had been sure we must have perished with Rivendell. When I told him about Mother he seemed sorrowful, but not very. I told myself he must have seen a lot of death recently.  
  
"How long has it been?" He said, "how long since the Dark Lord gained power and all was lost? I have missed you so, my daughter."  
  
"Two years?" I guessed, "three or four at the most. And not all is lost, Father. There are still friendly souls in the world, who have helped us survive. It is not as hard to live in these lands as it might seem, if you stay quiet and low."  
  
"I don't wish to stay quiet," Father said darkly, "We must fight, Min, we must reclaim what is ours."  
  
I was silent for a moment. "But to what end?" I said finally, "even if you do return to power, Sauron will only crush you again. You bring only more bloodshed and more terror."  
  
"I will not cower while our enemy hunts me and my kin to the death," he cried, "we must stay as one, and conquer the evil. Come, my daughter, come fight for us!"  
  
I felt my blood run cold. They were all looking at me, watching me, sizing me up like some new sword for their use. I felt angry, I felt almost betrayed. Did he want me only as another soldier? Did he not care for my beliefs? But I remembered a time when he had hugged me, and he had been kind and caring as a father, as a brother to me almost.  
  
"No father," I said, "I will not. I will not fight for you, or for your people. There is no more "us", father! The elves are scattered or dead! You risk everything for a vain hope that by some fantastical miracle, you might win a single battle. But we cannot plunge recklessly into battle like this. No, I won't fight for you father."  
  
I saw the effect of my words hit them. I saw my father's face fall, as if I had condemned him, or perhaps myself, to some terrible doom.  
  
"Then leave," one elf cried, "my lord, if she insults us so, she cannot stay here!"  
  
"Get rid of her!"  
  
"Get rid of the witch!"  
  
My Father looked at me, almost afraid. I saw him battle with himself. He wanted me to stay, I could see it, but he knew he would lose the support of his warriors if he let that happen.  
  
"My Prince," Campbell put a hand on both our shoulders, "your daughter can look after herself and her sister well enough: she has been doing it for more then two years now, and she is wise and brave enough to stay safe that way. You would not be happy here anyway, would you Min? I know you: you would hate being treated like a child in this place," I nodded earnestly at this, "My Prince, she will be safer out there then in here," he turned to my Father, "give her one night, Legolas, to speak with her, then let her go."  
  
Something flickered between them, and my Father, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, nodded solemnly.  
  
"One night," he announced to the listening crowd, "one night to speak to my daughter, then she will leave."  
  
  
  
Next chapter: My father's Secret. Please review, cheers! 


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